


Stories of a Golden Child

by Infernoism



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Character Study, Fantasy, Immortality, Legends, Mythology - Freeform, Urban Legends, Xerxian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernoism/pseuds/Infernoism
Summary: -----This doesn't necessarily have to be read as Edward Elric, but he's what I had in mind when I wrote it (very quickly mind you).  ----There were always whispers, they followed him through time. All he knew was that he, was 'Him'. Everything else was Lost.





	Stories of a Golden Child

There were stories.

The spoken breath expanding and forever changing, stories wandering from mouth to mouth, clinging in the air. That's all there ever was, just the spoken word of superstitious grandparents, unbelieving parents and curious infants. No conformation, no...anything.

The myths, the legends all speaking of one man, one boy - one child, singular yet many.

He was one, yet he was so much more.

He had no name, if he ever did it was lost in the whispers of fire lit nights along with all else that ever meant anything to him.

Him.

It was just 'Him'.

He was no God. He was not the 'saviour' so many came to believe. He was just... Lost. They were lost. Lost through time and reality, never aging, never... living. He was many, yet they were one. Damned to wander a never world, full of nothing, a home to no-one nor nothing.  In a world so empty, so lonely yet never alone,  a place desolate save for  the 'what if's' that weren't and never would be. A land of broken promises, broken possibilities. A Land Lost to the fabric of reality and time.

But there were glimpses of this world, of Him, _before_. Fire of gold, winds of red and earth of sand. Young infants, so new to the world that none would induldge in their _fantasies_ ,  would catch the glimpses of Him, _after_ , but it would amount to nothing. They were dismissed as the delusions of a child.

 There were few that knew it was more than just a screaming image from the depths of the subconscious . They were pushed aside by common sense and the underlying fear that no-one quite understood but the fear that still lingered, sharp and weighted.

He was once a unintelligible and sacred myth,  never heard out of the hushed whispers of elders tortured by time. Those who claimed vision had been drowned out. One by one disappearing into darkness until none were left.

But.

Stories may only be words. But words held power. They held the power of all that would never be believed, they held the power to never be forgotten, remembered with just a small glimmer of uncertain hopefulness. Somewhere, someone will always remember.

And one is all that's needed.


End file.
